


fealty.

by Gon (pepperedfox)



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/Grand Order
Genre: "it'll be 2k" i said to myself LMFAOOO, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperedfox/pseuds/Gon
Summary: Camelot would never again emerge in human panhistory. Chaldea could never replace the kingdom Gawain swore his sword to. But it could, perhaps, be something different.---Gawain has been avoiding Leo as of late. Unsatisfied with his strange behavior, Leo sets out to uncover what has upset his former Servant so.
Relationships: Gawain | Saber/Leonardo B. Harwey
Kudos: 12





	1. leo.

**Author's Note:**

> you can think of this as a sequel to [the twilight king.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130039) i recommend you at least skim it to understand the dynamics at work here and why leo is percival!
> 
> this fic is for @llangendary... hope u like it!

All around Leo was the King of Britain, in all her many forms. The original Arturia sat at the table’s head, silent as her alternatives bickered playfully among each other.

“We ought to call ourselves the Round of Kings!” Arturia Lily clapped her hands together.

“Hold on a moment,” murmured Gray. “Um, even if I share His Majesty’s face, I don’t think I qualify as a king. Don’t you think so, Percival?”

All eyes slid towards Leo. What a sight it was, to see an entire table of the same faces crowded around him. They reminded him of a set of distorting fun-house mirrors. A bemused smile touched his lips.

“I agree,” he said. “This Percival was a proud servant to the king but his – _my_ nobility is what truly defines me. It is not kingliness that brings us together.”

“Sir Percival has a point.” Summer Arturia, who’d been slurping a milkshake, pushed aside her tasty drink. “We’re all here because we’re the same person, no?”

“Pardon me,” Jeanne d’Arc piped up. “I don’t think that’s quite right either…”

Six months had passed since Leo was summoned by Chaldea’s Master. Most everyone called him Percival, the name of the knight who he shared his Saint Graph with, and the Knights of the Round Table were quick to adopt him as their own. Only Gawain called him Leo still, a gesture that spoke of their quiet, intimate bond from their past lives. Truthfully, Leo liked it that way. Percival was a title for him to play into. The real Leo was something to be shared with only a precious few.

And that was why recent events had been so vexing to him…

Lily nudged Leo in the side with her elbow. “What are you thinking about, Percival?”

“Me? Just how delicious these potatoes are.”

“Oh, aren’t they divine! And they taste even better with everyone together.” Lily smiled. “The grown-up me can be so quiet. But with a gathering like this, she can relax a little. She can lower her guard around herself.”

“Now that’s interesting. If I were in her shoes, I’d feel all the more anxious.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one knows me as well as myself,” Leo said. _Save for Sir Gawain_. “So it follows no one will be as unforgiving as I am. A proper king-knight ought to be his own greatest critic for his duty’s sake.”

“I see,” Lily said. She laughed a little, looked at the many versions of herself with a somewhat wistful gaze. “I guess your view is right, too. But to be understood – that’s what ‘I’ wanted in ‘my’ final years. Even if I were cruel to myself, the company would be worth it.”

The debate carried on around them, moving on to whether or not the male King Arthur would be qualified to sit at their table. Leo set down his fork. “Say, Lily. How has Sir Gawain been doing?”

“Eh, Gawain? Doesn’t he usually hang around you?”

“Yes, that is typically the case. Perhaps it is only my imagination, yet I cannot help but feel he has been avoiding me as of late. He has become very difficult to find.”

“Is that so?” Lily frowned. “Hmm, Sir Gawain’s always been an open and honest man. The problem can’t be with you, for he’d tell you so.”

“Precisely,” Leo said. “I would drag the answer out myself if he weren’t so skilled at giving me the slip.”

Lily tapped her cheek in thought. “If he refuses to engage you directly, then a guerilla attack may be warranted. You must identify his habits and corner him when he least expects it!”

The serious and earnest way she suggested it made Leo laugh. “You’re a ruthless king deep down, Lily.”

“Hey, don’t say things like that!”

* * *

Relationships were their own battlefield. In Leo’s world, he learned to navigate social circles with the quiet and poised grace of a knight. Words and favors were capable of tangling the unwary, leaving them stranded and marked for death. A wrong move, and the Harwey’s enemies would assume weakness and strike.

But Gawain outshone these shadow games. Here was a man who truly believed in duty and honor, who spoke with naught but truth on his tongue. For him to sulk out of sight, something must be terribly wrong.

Leo followed Lily’s advice. He traveled in groups while keeping an eye out and, when alone, concealed himself around corners. His efforts paid off. On a particularly quiet night, Gawain slipped into one of the training simulators without armor. He was stripped bare to his skintight suit, the broadness of his frame and the slope of his muscular arms betraying a tenseness.

Leo crouched behind a stack of crates. He was in spirit form, undetectable, yet he felt as if he should be holding his breath. Overhead, the fluorescent lights beat down on Gawain’s bowed head.

The simulation whirred to life. Gawain unsheathed Galatine.

Monsters poured forth. Imps, chimeras, onis: all sizzled beneath the knight’s powerful swings. Leo watched, transfixed. Each dying scream was met by an equally powerful roar from Gawain, and as he cleaved the head of a centaur clean off, Leo realized the arc of his strikes were too great. Raw power emanated from each swing, but it came at the cost of precision and speed.

_This isn’t like him_ , Leo thought. _If he isn’t careful, he’ll…_

The simulator room shook and heaved. A scrabbling imp was squashed with a squeal beneath the massive foot of the materializing spriggan. Its form towered like a sheer cliff face, mossy teeth bared in a soundless snarl. Gawain raised his sword – to defend? to attack? – but he was too slow. The spriggan’s club slammed down on his unprotected shoulder with an audible crack of bone. Gawain stumbled back with a cry spat out between clenched teeth, knees trembling, yet he remained on his feet. Up swung the club again.

Leo launched forward. His sword flashed, bright as a needle, his own path a shining thread. He was too quick for the monster. The spriggan staggered and swayed. Pixelated mana gushed out of its neck. Its body fizzled away into nothing long before it hit the ground.

“Leo?!”

He landed beside the stupefied knight and sheathed his sword. Leo looked at Gawain with a frown. “It’s most unlike you to perform so poorly in a fight.”

Gawain only stared. He had a hand clasped over his injured shoulder, his grip ever-so-faintly trembling beneath the simulator room’s harsh lights. His mouth pressed together with great effort. Leo’s hunch was right, then. His knight was hiding something from him.

“Have you been watching me this entire time?” Gawain asked in a whisper.

“I have. You have been rather flighty as of late, so when our paths crossed by chance, I thought it better to conceal myself and observe. Let me heal you, you silly dog.”

“Your Majesty, you needlessly fret over me. This is but a flesh wound.”

“I must insist—”

“Do not lay your hands upon me!”

Leo froze. Gawain bowed his head and a terse silence filled between them. They bickered from time to time, as Master and Servant were wont to do. Leo always won those little tiffs, for Gawain was always too fond of him to let him lose. Never before had Gawain ever raised his voice at him, not with such urgency and haste.

“If there is something troubling you,” Leo said, slow and quiet, “I would rather you tell me than to take it out on me. I don’t deserve such cold treatment. Especially not from a knight who’s sworn himself to me.”

The blow hit home. Gawain hunched over, practically bowing now. He spoke with the detached, polite air of his lower rank. “I cannot tell you, sire. I beg your forgiveness.”

“Then you will tell it to Arturia, or your sister.”

“No, Your Majesty. The burden I bear is mine alone to overcome. I beg you to take no heed, for it is beneath you.”

“Nothing about you is beneath me, Gawain. Not even your troubles.”

“… please, pardon me. I must head to the infirmary.”

“Gawain!”

It was too late. The knight vanished into spirit form, leaving Leo alone in the empty, hollow room. The infirmary was not far from here. Leo could easily intercept him if he headed out now. There remained so many questions to be answered, and for a moment he felt his throat clench.

“A king must hold his subject’s unwavering trust,” Leo muttered. “What should I do to prove myself to him? Really, Gawain… you’re supposed to be the honest one between us…”


	2. gawain.

The dreams still plagued Gawain’s slumber. They never began the same. In one, he stood before the craggy peaks of a weathered mountain bested by darkened storm clouds. In another, he rode upon Gringolet’s broad back, the summer sun peppering his back with its warm kisses. Where he started never mattered, for the road always wound back to the lake with crooked trees, its surface still and clear with the eerie calmness of a full winter moon. And though he always possessed an inkling of what was to come, he found his feet drawn to its lichen-ridden shore.

“It is always the same place?” Kiara asked. She kept her legs crossed. It would’ve been a fetching display of humility if it didn’t exaggerate the slit running along her habit. Gawain kept his eyes on her face.

To come to Kiara, of all people, for assistance would turn out to be a poor decision. This was inevitable. If the vile snake of paradise could manifest among men, it would wear her skin. One could not trust her, least they found themselves robbed of sense and morals.

Oh, how low Gawain had fallen to turn to her.

“Yes, always,” he said.

“I see.” Her smile glowed with genuine warmth. It could almost make one forget the cat-like shine in her eyes. “Please, continue.”

At the lake’s shore was the terrifying realization that this place was not for him. The mud beneath his feet seeped into the crevices of his boots, the increased weight sucking him downwards. All around him, the ancient boughs pressed over Gawain as the claws of countless beasts hungering for his head. To move would mean death. To remain still would mean death. And in his soul was the instinctive knowledge that what lay slumbering beneath the moon-still lake was a fate far worse.

“And what is in the lake?” Kiara asked.

Gawain clenched his jaw. The answer struggled to leave.

“My king. Leo.”

* * *

Camelot would never again emerge in human panhistory. Chaldea could never replace the kingdom Gawain swore his sword to. But it could, perhaps, be something different. An event was always happening within its winding halls, be it petty disputes between age-old rivals, inexplicable disasters birthed from Caster workshops, or the unforeseen side effects of yet another miniature singularity.

Leo settled well into his chaotic new existence perhaps a little too eagerly. “The life of a commoner is spontaneous,” he told Gawain rather cheerfully. “Chaldea to me feels like the school I’ve never attended. Surely you sense it in the atmosphere.”

“Your Majesty,” Gawain began. He couldn’t find the words to say more, given how dumbstruck he was by Leo’s conclusion.

“Holiday events, training to save the world, even summer vacations! This organization can truly be called a shounen’s high school!”

_But you’re an adult, as are most of the other Servants…_ went unsaid, even as it was written all over Gawain’s face.

All that aside, Leo bloomed beneath the Master’s guidance. The impenetrable air he wore to maintain his status as a Harwey chipped away. Gawain saw glimpses of genuine smiles, of true enthusiasm gushing forth without the pretense of royalty. There was no kingdom or family here to keep Leo beholden to ancient duties. Yet, by the same token, there was no crown for Gawain to follow.

Leo could be Leo. Who could Gawain be?

* * *

“Let us talk of Dame Ragnell,” Kiara said. How could she speak so pleasantly, yet send a shiver of disgust through Gawain? He frowned.

“I don’t see what she has to do with my dreams.”

“Call it a woman’s intuition.” Kiara smiled, the motion slick with poisonous promise. “You came to me for guidance. I am offering you a light to illuminate your path. It is up to you to take it.”

“… very well. Ask your questions.”

“Did you love her?”

“I was wedded to her.”

Kiara simply sat there with her hands folded in her lap. Gawain frowned.

“Is that not the answer you wanted, Kiara?”

“This time is yours, Gawain. I pass no judgments.”

“I would think you’d have more questions.” He waited some more. Still, Kiara said nothing. “With her curse lifted, Dame Ragnell was the loveliest woman in all of the land. I was a fortunate man.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I trusted my king’s decision and I was well rewarded for it. Though our time together was short, I would not have traded it for anything.” Gawain looked up. “A knight’s life belongs to the crown. He does not own his existence. Should my duty call for me to be wed for the kingdom’s betterment, I would hear and obey. A man who serves cannot choose happiness – he must make happiness with what he has.”

“Was Dame Ragnell a choice for you?”

Gawain leaned forward. “Tell me plainly, Kiara. Why this line of questioning?”

“Oh? It isn’t obvious to you, Sir Knight?” She smiled, her fine fingertips drumming across her cheek with the swiftness of a spider’s legs. “I’m fascinated by you. Everyone knows the manner of Beast I am. Hedonism is my nature, I deny no indulgence. But you seem to find ecstasy in chastity and restraint – in sacrifice.”

“What you seek is lust,” Gawain said flatly. “I speak of love, in all its forms. A human is more than his animal desires.”

“You sound like that irritating fairy-tale author. Maybe so. But isn’t love a form of lust? The lengths people would go to for a look or a sign… maybe love can be a choice. I wouldn’t understand that. What I _am_ surprised by is your blindness to your own love, Gawain.”

He would have been fine, had she not dropped the last sentence upon him. It burned in his chest in an unexpected fire, choked his throat with its smoke. “What are you saying?”

“Moderation,” Kiara said. “The excess of torture blinds one to the present, and thus blinds one from the truth. You talk about choices, but I wonder. Maybe Leo has already made his choice. And I think you owe it to your king to open your eyes. Don’t you think?”

* * *

For reasons Gawain couldn’t fathom, Kiara let him go. “I’ll see you again soon,” she said with a sly wink. Her doors hissed shut before he could demand to know what she’d meant.

Now it was only him, with a smarting shoulder and a troubled soul. Speaking with Kiara had only shaken him and now everything was hopelessly mixed together. Gawain pressed a hand to his head. A ride would do him good. If he went now, he could have the track entirely to himself, as all the other Servants would be at dinner.

“Sir Gawain.”

There was no need to turn around. That regal tone, commanding respect. The quiet intensity given to each syllable, painfully present like a brand pressed to the flesh. Gawain could hardly stand to look at him when he’d made such a fool of himself in the simulator room. Perhaps, if he acted as though he had not heard him—

“… is that any way to treat your king?” Leo gripped him by the arm. “Look at me, Gawain, that’s an order.”

Gawain obeyed with a heavy head. His memories of the Moon Cell primed him to see Leo shorted and younger. To be able to meet Leo’s eyes was still a novel sensation, as were the size and strength of those gloved hands on him. Those of medieval Britain hailed Gawain as the knight of the sun, for its rays granted him strength. Why, then, in the light of the sun beside him, he felt so weak?

“Your Majesty,” Gawain said, and meant it.

“It is most unchivalrous for a knight to run away,” Leo replied. “You and I are not the sort to keep chasing each other like this. I am tired of this game you play. You will dine with me tonight.”

“Of course, milord. With the rest of the Round Table, I assume?”

“What gives you the idea I’d want them listening in? No, we will eat dinner in my room, where we shall be afforded proper privacy.”

In a battle of strength, Gawain would trump Leo. He need only pull away and nothing could be done in retaliation. Yet the hand on him held him in place. He could not break free of it, any more than a dog could chew off its own tail. Leo raised his fine eyebrows.

“I hear no agreement, but I also mark no disagreement. Good. Let us go.”

“You don’t intend to hang off my arm the entire way, do you?” The words slipped out before Gawain could stop himself.

“Ha! You don’t want to be seen escorting me?”

“You are my king. I am better suited at your side or behind you, following your steps.”

“Nonsense. You are beside me now, are you not?”

Gawain, bested, could only muster a soft chuckle and a shake of his head. “If milord insists, then I’ve no choice but to hear and obey.”

“Your first wise choice of the day.”

To submit to his king on such a matter was traitorous, was it not? Gawain had failed the King of Knights long ago out of blind obedience. Was he to commit the same mistake yet again? He recalled the weight of the mud, the chill of the lake. Oh, but how it all melted beneath the firm confidence Leo wore. So he didn’t protest as he was sat down, didn’t comment on how Leo stripped himself of his cape and helmet, freeing the fine, golden countenance beneath. Nor could he remark on how little space Leo’s legs afforded his once Leo sat down.

“We’ve mashed potatoes tonight,” Leo declared. “I recall you were exceptionally fond of carbohydrates. Well, you’re in luck! These were made by my own hand.”

The idea of Leo, decked out in full regalia, flattening potatoes, brought a smile to Gawain’s face. “It is an honor to partake in your gift.”

“Ah! But there is one condition before you taste the fruit of my labor, Sir Gawain.”

“And what would that be?”

“You must answer me truthfully.”

“… I shall endeavor to.”

“Good. Now: do you fancy me?”

Almost immediately, Gawain answered, “Your Majesty, you have asked me to be truthful, and truthful I shall be. I beg your pardon for my crassness, but I must confess the manner of women I fancy possess numbers far greater in their proportions compared to you.”

The words rushed out of him but did nothing to relieve the pressure in his chest. Leo scrunched his face, as though he’d tasted something incredibly bitter. “Gawain,” he said, “being stupid won’t get you out of this one.”

That, Gawain took grave offense to. “I am quite serious when it comes to women, Your Majesty.”

“I was not asking about women. I shall be straightforward, you have been exhibiting behavior I well recognize. Though I was educated among other elite children, I recognize the symptoms, for they are commonplace across adolescents of all statuses. You are smitten. Are you not, Sir Gawain?”

“… does Your Majesty wish to drive a confession from me?”

“I wish to understand your reluctance.”

Gawain fixed his eyes upon the tip of Leo’s ear. If he were to look directly into that fair face, he would lose the last of his resolve and slip into the waters. “It is my duty to serve you and humanity. I, as a knight and a Servant, possess no other dream. To be my king’s sword is what I was born to be – nay, ‘tis my greatest desire.”

“What does such a dream have to do with love?”

“It has everything to do with love, milord. You of all people should understand. A knight may love his king as a symbol and light. To love him as an equal would gravely upset the balance of things.”

For to love the king would to ruin him and drag him down to the level of humans, to tie him to what would surely be an unwanted partner. There was no justification for the desire burning within Gawain, for why should he be the one to steal the sun from its sky? What gave him the right to selfishly claim Leo as his own, to rob others from Leo’s light?

Leo rose from his seat. He went to Gawain’s side, his touch light on his uninjured shoulder. With the gentlest of pressure, his fingers traced up along the neck, over the jut of the jaw. A shiver went through Gawain and he forced himself to be still. He found he could not look away from that spring-green gaze.

“I am indeed your king, Gawain,” Leo muttered, “but not in the sense you think. Chaldea is different from Camelot. I am called upon to provide my nobility and sense of justice. You have been called upon to provide your sword. We are beholden to no kingdom or man, save for our Master. If I am a king of anything…”

“Leo—” Gawain breathed. Was he trying to give a warning? Was he begging him?

“… it would be as the king of your heart.”

“Leo, I cannot—”

Leo bent his head, golden hair falling forth, bright as sunbeams. The soft aroma of cologne enclosed Gawain as a veil and stole his breath. He could not move – dared not to move, least he awaken and find himself miserable and entangled in his sheets, burning with shame and desire – and he did not resist when Leo’s lips touched his.

Gawain knew he was lost then. He’d fallen deep into the waters, his footing lost, and the haunting want he fought to drown rose up in him. His hands slid onto Leo’s back, his body turning towards him, and all he could think of was how warm his king’s mouth was, how it burned in him hotter than any summer.

It was Leo who broke away first to breathe, cheeks flushed bright red, mischief sparkling in his eyes. He tipped his forehead against Gawain’s and declared, “The king has made his decision. You don’t have any objections, do you?”

There was always a chance to fail. A chance to ruin the light between his hands, a chance to destroy the nobility of the young man before him. It was not that Gawain doubted him, but that Gawain doubted _himself_. That his sword would bring about their fall, as it had to Arturia all those centuries ago.

But in the space between them, where their shaky breathing was as loud as any song, there was a faith that Leo had planted. Faith in Gawain, faith in his sword, faith in _them_. And how beautifully it glowed in this little moment. How brave it made him feel.

“No,” Gawain said at last, and he felt the weight in his heart lift. “I will love you as you wish.”


End file.
